


Nerdanel the Wise

by SpaceWall



Series: Dawn [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aman (Tolkien), F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, In-Laws, Late Night Conversations, Love, M/M, Nerdanel is The Best, Regret, Reincarnation, Reunions, Star Gazing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-03-07 09:19:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceWall/pseuds/SpaceWall
Summary: An ongoing series of conversations with Nerdanel, throughout the Reunification of the House of Finwë.





	1. Fingon

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not actually spend a lot of time getting drunk, nor do I have a mother in law, so this may be inaccurate.

At roughly two in the morning, Fingon rapped his hand hard on Nerdanel’s door. He’d ridden hard all evening and was near swaying on his feet. He prayed that none of Nerdanel’s sons were visiting. While he tolerated most of his cousins (actually liked more than one of them), it was not what he needed at that moment. 

“Screw off!” Nerdanel’s muffled voice called from inside. She yanked the door open, wearing nothing but a nightgown and fully prepared to smack Fingon upside the head for disturbing her. Fingon, mutely, handed her the letter he’d received that had sent him on his mad ride through the countryside. Her whole expression changed, and she added dangerously softly, “stable your horse, and come in.”

Fingon did as instructed, and rejoined Nerdanel in the living room. It was littered, as the rest of Nerdanel’s home was, with evidence of the rest of her family. Celebrimbor and Curufin’s work in overly elaborate contraptions for everything from lighting to telling time, Caranthir’s books on the shelves, a harp Nerdanel owned but did not play in the corner, large boot prints which could only belong to Celegorm worn into the floor from years of his visits. 

“So, they listened to you.” Nerdanel said. She had collapsed into a chair by the fire, which was dead. Her face was streaked with silent tears, and her wild red hair hung in loose tangles. 

Fingon gave her a smile. “Yes, they finally listened to me. Maedhros is coming home.”

Saying it aloud made it feel much more real. For want of something to do, Fingon lit a fire in the fireplace, with wood probably chopped last time the twins were in, and kindling that had been carefully ordered by quality in Nerdanel’s thoughtful way. 

“Is this the part of the whole affair where you finally confess to me your undying love for my son?”

Fingon swore, and narrowly avoided dropping the flint in the fire. He caught it one handed, and placed it back on the mantle. He turned to meet Nerdanel’s eye. She watched him carefully. Her eyes contained fire. Not in the way Fëanor’s had, not that brilliant and destructive passion. But Nerdanel had in some ways a greater strength, a totally indomitable force of will that never wavered, no matter how hard it became. This perseverance she had passed on to all her children, but none more so than Maedhros. 

“I wasn’t planning on it being.” Fingon spoke as carefully as he could manage. There was a time when he had called speaking in this way ‘channeling Maedhros’. “I think Maedhros would have wanted some say on the matter. He’ll probably blame me for being horribly unsubtle, but, well, he knows me.”

Nerdanel considered this, and motioned for Fingon to take a seat. Despite her state of near undress, she was stately, poised. “I had wondered if it was a… unreturned passion.”

Such things were uncommon among the elves, and rarely spoken of. Though given their secrecy, it would not have been a ludicrous assumption. And the tendency towards unachievable romances ran in Fingon’s blood. Just look at Maeglin.

Fingon shook his head. “No, not unreturned. And to the extent it remained a secretive and un-legitimized affair, it was not for my lack of trying. Maedhros was- is- very concerned with the greater good. Not to mention we were perpetually unlucky. Grandfather Finwë might have allowed us to marry, I think, just to try and make our fathers settle their differences, but we were in some ways too young then, and Maedhros cared very deeply about what his father thought. But then Fëanor was king and then… everything, and then my father was king, and would have been no more favourable to the match, though for different reasons. Then I was king and Maedhros flat-out refused me. More than once. So, he had me marry, and we orchestrated our alliance. And, well, I’ve told you how that ended.”

After Fingon had returned, he had sought Nerdanel out, first to tell her Maedhros’s story from his perspective, then to conspire with her towards Maedhros’s release, and then, finally, as a sort of friend. There were, perhaps, two people in the whole world who loved Maedhros and could stand to be in the same room as Fingon. One was Maglor, poor Maglor, and the other was Nerdanel. She was, to the great frustration of his father, siblings, and son, the member of the family with whom Fingon spent the most time. 

“Your fathers would have been unimaginably furious,” Nerdanel agreed, eyes sparkling with hidden laughter. “Not even Celegorm could have done better.”

Celegorm had, through his youthful friendship with Oromë, cultivated something of a reputation for being a frustration to his father. 

“If Maedhros is willing, I’ll tell my father, now. I- I think I want to scream it from the hills. It’s terrifying, the idea of everyone knowing, of feeling their judgement, because I know I would, but-“

“But you are not ashamed to love my son.”

Fingon smiled at her. “No, I’m not. I never have been, and I never will be. I- I want to tell Ereinion first. He deserves to know where he comes from, his mother’s story and mine. Then, my parents. I don’t know how they’ll react but they need to know. Turno- he’ll be furious I shouldn’t wonder. Aredhel won’t. She’ll get a real kick out of ‘proper Finno’ having found a husband father hates even more than hers.”

Fingon coloured abruptly, brain catching up with his tongue. “Husband?” Nerdanel asked. 

Fingon put his face in his hands, and whispered through them, “If he’ll have me. And- if you’d consent, of course. I’d ask his father like a proper suitor, but, well…”

Fingon looked up to find Nerdanel shaking with silent laughter. She laughed so hard tears ran down her cheeks, and she wiped them away with the sleeves of her nightgown. Fingon opened his mouth to try and explain, but then he was laughing too, the late hour, and the exhaustion of his long ride, and the incalculable relief at having Maedhros so close, combined with his shame at being caught and amusement at Nerdanel’s ridiculous expression to set him off. 

“We’re getting him back, Nerdanel!” He exclaimed through his laughing, pulling her to her feet and spinning her like a spring maiden there on the hearth. “Maitimo is coming home!”

Nerdanel, whose strength was not to be underestimated, neither metaphorical or literal, lifted Fingon up, and spun him once in turn. Then she put him back down, laughing aloud at last, and both of them collapsed to the floor.

“He won’t be out for a couple of days, will he?” Nerdanel asked. When Fingon shook his head, she pulled a flask seemingly from nowhere, and took a drink. She passed it to Fingon. He took a drink without asking what it was, and immediately regretted it.

“What is this, rubbing alcohol?” He wiped his tongue off on his sleeve. Even the taste of road dirt and horse hair was better than this. 

Nerdanel shook her head ruefully at him. “It’s my father’s own experiment in brewing. A failure, I think, though it is very potent.”

Fingon, empowered, took another swig and then passed it back. “I don’t believe you’ve ever answered my question. Do I have permission to marry Maedhros, or is the match unapproved from all quarters?”

“Approved from this quarter, if he’ll have you. Though I can’t imagine Maedhros denying you anything much. He’s not one to love by halves.”

Fingon smiled at her. “He’s really not. And I don’t just speak of myself either. His love for his family, that’s one of his best traits. You know more so than I. That’s why he wouldn’t marry me, really. Might still not. For fear of losing them.”

Nerdanel stared into the fire for a long time. A spark jumped out, and with deft reflexes, she caught it on the back of her hand. It was far too weak to burn, and died instantly. They passed the flask back and forth a couple more times.

“They’ll be upset, sure enough. But Celegorm and Curufin never liked you anyhow, and Caranthir doesn’t like anyone at all, or pretends not to. Maedhros never minded what they thought before.”

“It was different, before,” Fingon told her petulantly. 

“Lots of things were different before. But you couldn’t have married before, and you can now.” They took another pause to drink and reflect. Then Nerdanel asked, “What about Ereinion?”

“Gil-galad,” Fingon muttered, “he prefers Gil-galad, though he may not for long.”

“Why not?”

“Maedhros picked it. He liked the grace of such a name. Light in the darkness, hope. In Sindarin, because that was the tongue of the land and the people, for all his brothers griping about it. It was subtle. Ereinion was markedly less so, but that was what I liked about it. ‘Scion of Kings’. Because that was what he was supposed to be. Our son. The culmination of our lines, the true reunification of our family.” Fingon took another drink. “Then, of course, everything fell apart.”

Nerdanel snagged her flask back. “I’ve heard that part. But my question stands. What are you going to tell Ereinion? And for that matter, what about his mother? I know a thing or two about lonely little boys whose fathers remarry.”

“She knew, about us. I couldn’t have married someone who didn’t know. But she didn’t want a romantic bond, of any kind, and she did want children. The Valar couldn’t have made a better match. She understood that Nelyo and I were going to marry one day, and was fine with it. As for Gil-galad, I don’t know. I was a terrible father, and then I was a dead father, so we aren’t especially close.”

“Maedhros would have been an excellent father, given the chance.”

Fingon nodded in agreement. “I sometimes wonder if I should have willed that, on the occasion of my death, Gil-galad be sent to Maedhros.”

Nerdanel shook her head. “He would have hated that. Maitimo, I mean. He wouldn’t have wanted to be responsible for dragging another person he loved into darkness.” Fingon opened his mouth to object, and Nerdanel continued, “he would have seen it that way. You know him, it’s how he sees the world.”

Fingon could find no argument to this, so he looked back at the fire. They finished the flask, and Nerdanel broke out a nice bottle of wine, and they finished that too. 

“So, what’s it like?” Nerdanel asked, when they were properly drunk, “Getting your doomed husband back?”

Fingon ran a hand through his lose hair. “I mean, so far all I’ve done is get drunk with my mother-in-law, so I’ll give you a full review when I can actually hold Nelyo, in my hands. Hold his hands! Two hands. You know, he never actually was upset about that, just that I didn’t shoot him when I was supposed to. What a guy.”

Nerdanel laughed. “You, my favourite son-in-law, are drunk.”

“’m your only son-in-law,” Fingon pointed out.

Nerdanel laughed. “That you know of.”

After a pause, Fingon said, “You know, I’m sorry about Fëanor.”

“I know.” Nerdanel muttered. She laid down on the carpet. “I’m sorry about it too.”

“I don’t think this is forever,” Fingon said, and put his head down beside hers. “I mean- that’s everyone now, ‘cept Maeglin, Maglor and Fëanor. And Maeglin’s my part of the family, not yours.”

Nerdanel, in the way drunk people sometimes do, whispered loudly, “Sometimes, I’m afraid about what will happen when Fëanáro comes back. If he comes back.”

“Why?” Fingon didn’t know why they were whispering but he was happy to play along.

“Because he never knows when to give up, because everything that’s ever gone wrong for everyone in this family is at least a little his fault. Because he could take the crown from Arafinwë, if he wanted, and nobody would stop him. Because I loved him, and I still love him, and I’m worried that seeing the consequences of what he’s done will break him apart.”

“I worry about that too,” Fingon told her. From the ground, when she was only a tangle of copper hair, it was easy to remember that Nerdanel and Maedhros were very much alike. “But they’re strong, Nerdanel. Fëanor had a lot of flaws, but failure to love his family isn’t one of them.”

“No,” Nerdanel muttered darkly, “That’s my flaw.”

Fingon made an inarticulate noise of disagreement. The idea that Nerdanel, who had raised seven children with nothing but love and care, could be considered unloving was nothing short of heresy. 

“It’s true,” Nerdanel insisted. “I didn’t go after them, didn’t look after them. “

“You weren’t a kinslayer.”

“Neither were Arafinwë’s children, neither was that little girl of Turgon’s. Even if I hadn’t gone with Fëanáro, I could’ve gone with you lot across the ice. Been there for the boys later. Been there for Celebrimbor, who needed family but didn’t always have it.”

“You’re there for them now, when they need you. You’re here. You’ll be here for Maedhros. Soon.”

“Soon,” Nerdanel echoed, and if they stayed up the rest of the night, watching the fire, remembering old sorrows, and making new joys, then that was their business, to be shared only with Maedhros, who both of them held dear.


	2. Nerdanel and Maedhros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An immediate follow up to Ch. 1, dealing with the aftermath of Maedhros's return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me like a month to write this! Promise! I didn't actually write it in like 2 hours and then forget to edit it until like literally now. Definitely not.

“I want you to tell me about three non-Fingon people who have made you happy since I saw you last.” Nerdanel commanded. This was a technique she had found worked well on her sons, since asking more open ended questions invariably gave them room to be morbid and gloomy.

Maitimo blinked, calmly, at her. He didn’t answer, but she didn’t really expect him to. Since his return, he had spoken almost not at all. When he had appeared, he had seemed blinded, unable to look up, to meet their eyes. Fingon had gone to him, had pulled his hair out of his eyes with such tenderness it had almost seemed obscene to watch. Maitimo had seemed surprised to see him, but then something must have clicked, a memory or a feeling, and he had kissed Fingon, full on the mouth. Nerdanel had been grateful she had decided to have Maitimo’s brothers come later.

“Nelyafinwë Maitimo.” Nerdanel said, with no real fire. “Even Curufinwë managed to come up with an answer to that question.” When Maitimo didn’t respond, she said, “Just names, Maedhros. Give me that much.”

Maitimo muttered something rude under his breath in a mannish language Nerdanel didn’t know. Then he said, “Maglor, Elrond, Elros.”

Well, that was something anyway, even if it gave Nerdanel more questions than it did answers. She allowed Maitimo to earn at least something of a reprieve for his answer. “He’s a good sort, Fingon. You should probably marry him. Unless you’ve already done that.”

Maitimo turned red enough to match his hair. “Ammë,” he exclaimed, the loudest he’d spoken to Nerdanel all day. When Nerdanel laughed at him, he asked, “do you really like him?”

“I’ve always liked Finno. He was a good influence on you. And we’ve spent a lot of time together, this past century. He also clearly adores you, which puts him in my good books.”

This got a sly smile out of Maitimo. “I adore him too,” he confessed.

“Good.” 

The elf in question was sleeping in. He’d stayed up worrying about Maitimo for days before his arrival, and had been pressured by both Nerdanel and Maitimo into actually catching up on some sleep. 

Nerdanel poured Maitimo some herbal tea, and asked him, “Would you like to tell me about Elrond and Elros? The names are familiar, but I’m afraid I’m not placing them at the moment.”

Maitimo made a strange expression. “They’re my- Maglor’s-” He seemed to reorient himself. “They’re Elwing and Eärendil’s children. Maglor and I kidnapped them at the Havens of Sirion. Peredhel twins. I don’t know where they are now.”

Nerdanel processed this information. She’d heard of course that the kidnapping had occurred, being Turgon’s great-grandchildren as they were, but it had not occurred to her to consider what the impact of that might have been on her own sons. She worried, of course, but had assumed that like most of what she worried about, it had been in some way due to the oath, not personal. 

“Who are they to you?” Nerdanel asked, schooling her face into passive interest. 

Maitimo said nothing for long enough that Nerdanel began to worry he would never answer. “They’re- Maglor and I kept them. They were only six, when we took them. And they were so small. Bigger than an elven six-year-old, aye, but still too small. They looked very Noldorin, dark hair, grey eyes- a little like Finno when he was a child.”

“They made you happy?”

Maitimo gave her a wry smile. “They terrified me, and worried me, but yes, they made me happy. Elros was tough, tough on the enemy, tough on himself, and especially tough on me. He never forgave me, and he shouldn’t have, but watching him grow up was amazing. He had a certain mannish quality to him, a resilience that grew into true strength over time. I’m sure he’s gone now. The gift of men wouldn’t have terrified him at all. Nothing did. He never feared Maglor or I, even though he often hated us greatly. We were kinslayers, and murderers, and though he was under no illusion about what we were, he never shied away.”

“And Elrond?” Nerdanel asked. She’d slid forward on her seat to look at Maitimo. For his part, his whole countenance had changed as he was speaking about his children. He seemed so proud of them.

“Elrond wouldn’t have taken the path of men.”

“No?”

“He loved Maglor far too much. He shouldn’t have, but he did. Elrond grew far more attached to us than his brother ever did, despite our keeping him in captivity. And of course, he was in love with the world in general. With living.” Maedhros seemed confident in this, but the blustery sort of confidence that was all about trying to convince oneself of the truth.

“You think he would choose for love?”

“I think if you don’t choose for love, what’s the point?”

“He’s counted as an elf,” Fingon murmured from the doorway. He still looked tired, but he wore clean clothes, and his hair was held back with a lovely golden clasp. He kissed Maitimo on the cheek, and sat in the chair beside his. A look of great relief crossed Maitimo’s face. He closed his eyes as if in prayer, and when he opened them, they were clearer than they had been all day. Nerdanel poured Fingon a cup of tea, and mouthed ‘thank you’ at him. 

The three of them sat in silence for a while. Suddenly, out of the blue, Maitimo whispered, “Thank you.”

Neither of them asked him what for. They both knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros is like the least reliable narrator ever. If Elrond ever found out about like half of what he said here, he would be so pissed. But in fairness to him, he's been alive for like 24 hours and in a spiral of horrible depression for like 5000 years so maybe he has a good excuse.


	3. Celegorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celegorm tells Nerdanel about his reunion with Oromë, and learns a surprising truth.

“And how, exactly, is Oromë?” Nerdanel asked, coldly. Celegorm got the distinct impression that she didn’t actually care. He chose to ignore it. She had been so warm, seconds earlier, before Celegorm had decided to redirect the topic of conversation to his love. But whenever Oromë came up, Nerdanel always shut the conversation down. Even when Celegorm had asked her advice on getting back together with Oromë, she’d merely deflected, and forced him to make the decision on his own.

“They’re well. I- Amil- there’s something you need to know.”

Nerdanel’s face grew deadly. “Eru help me Celegorm, if that Vala has hurt you again, I will-”

Celegorm held up his hand, and Nerdanel didn’t finish her vow. Even informally, it amazed Celegorm how willing people in his family were to invoke Eru. After everything. Surely, that had been proven to be a very bad idea. 

“I’m fine, Amil. Really, I am. Aredhel would rip them to pieces if they did anything unkind or disrespectful.” Nerdanel smiled. She held great love for Aredhel, driven largely by her gratitude for Aredhel’s role in Celegorm’s life. Celegorm felt much the same.

“In that case, what do you have to tell me, yonya?”

And Eru, Celegorm had been dreading this moment since he had realized that a reunion for him and Oromë was possible. “We’re back together. Oromë and I. We’re… Starting from the beginning and seeing where the winds take us.”

Nerdanel said nothing, for a long moment. She looked down at her hands, clasped tightly to the arm of her chair, then up at Celegorm. She rose, and left the room, Celegorm following just a pace or so back. Leading him to her workroom, she began searching through drawers, and cabinets, with clear intention. 

“What are you looking for?” Celegorm asked. 

His mother, ignored him, and then, suddenly triumphant, yanked a sleek, flat, wooden box from the back of a drawer. It was old but unused. Perhaps even unopened, judging from the dusty red ribbon tied around it. She handed it to Celegorm. 

“Your father and I got this for you and Oromë shortly after he first learned of your relationship. We’d had plans, but, well… life does get in the way of such things.” There was a long, awkward pause until Nerdanel added, “you can open it.”

Celegorm did so, carefully untying the ribbon, which was so creased in the shape of the box that it almost remained a perfect rectangle even when pulled away. He unlatched the box, and as the hinges creaked open, stared at the contents. 

The leather cords on which the pendants hung would need to be replaced, was Celegorm’s first thought, stupidly. Then he took a mental step back, and actually considered what was in front of him. There were two necklaces, with pendants that were clear fashioned as a set. A greenish sort of stone, but not a gem. Jade, maybe. Fëanor would have been disappointed in Celegorm for not knowing. One was in the form of a hound, running, the other of a bird in flight. Each was incredibly detailed, and wrapped with tiny lines of gold, highlighting a couple feathers, or a flash of the eyes. On the back of each design, the gold formed a loop by which the ties were attached. Though Nerdanel said she had ‘gotten them,’ it was unlikely that this craft was any other than hers and her husband’s. 

“I don’t understand,” Celegorm managed. His throat felt tight, like there was a hand wrapped around it. 

His mother wrapped strong arms around him, and held him close. Strangely enough, this made him feel freer. She was warm, and safe. 

“I know your father says he’s opposed to you and Oromë, but your father doesn’t think anyone is good enough for his sons. No Vala or prince or well-mannered lady is ever going to be up to snuff for him. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you to be happy. We’d talked about it, and we didn’t really think rings were your speed. So, a sort of substitute, if you will.”

It was exactly the sort of thing Oromë would love. Subtle, but strongly symbolic. Meaningful to the two of them. And if they wanted, they could wear the necklaces under tunics or jackets, so as not to attract attention. 

“Oromë is going to love these.” Celegorm told her, and he couldn’t help but smile. “I love them. I just don’t understand why you never told me you were alright with it before.”

Nerdanel leant back onto her workbench, carelessly sweeping tools and projects alike to the side. Her projects were important to her, but they were replicable. What was most incredible about Celegorm’s mother was that she always made you feel irreplaceable. Important. 

When she spoke, her voice was calm, and gentle. “I have tried to make a point of not making you and your brothers do anything you didn’t want to do. I support you. I always want to support you. But because there’s such a power imbalance in your relationship with Oromë- them being a Vala, and you being, well, not- if your father and I had told you to do it, we were worried you would have felt like you didn’t have anywhere to turn. I want you to always be able to choose your own path, in life and in love. Besides, your father’s stance on marriage is enough pressure for one person all on its own, leaving aside the rest of the situation.”

It made sense, but it also made Celegorm very angry. “Are you telling me that I’ve spent literal centuries paralysed with fear over what you and Atar think, when neither of you actually have been opposed to me being in a relationship with Oromë this whole time?”

“I’m sorry. But please understand that I only wanted you to feel you could choose your own path.”

Celegorm looked down at the pendants again. A hound and a bird. The bird for Oromë, he thought, because Oromë loves to be free. The hound for Celegorm himself, because hounds were loyal, and Celegorm wanted to be loyal, first and foremost. To his family. To Aredhel. To Oromë. 

“I’ve chosen it, Amil.”

Nerdanel’s face broke into a wide smile. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lest you think this is unrealistic, please note that my mother will not tell me what she thinks of any of my career or education choices because she doesn't want me to feel pressured.


	4. Oromë and Fëanor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oromë has a chat with the in-laws, Fëanor apologizes for some past mistakes, and Nerdanel elects never to make the same mistake twice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set during the final chapter of A New Day, when Oromë and Celegorm’s relationship has just been publicly revealed for the first time, and they’re staying with Fëanor and Nerdanel to get away from it all. You probably don’t need to know more than that to read this.

The House of Finwë was full of chronic insomniacs. Oromë knew from personal experience that Celegorm was an incorrigibly bad sleeper, and had been before he had nightmares to haunt him every moment. Aredhel was the same, as, apparently, were Celegorm’s parents. Oromë, who had come down in the middle of the night to get a glass of water, found not one but both of them sitting at the kitchen table. Nerdanel, wearing an oddly fancy nightgown, leant back in her chair and watched Fëanor at his work. He seemed to be doing something with magnets and coils of copper wire. Every so often, Nerdanel would make an observation, or Fëanor would ask her for her views of something. Otherwise, they were perfectly silent. 

“Come in,” Fëanor said, without looking up from his work. There was a thunk as Nerdanel kicked him under the table. 

“Put those magnets down, Fëanor, you can prove your theory just as well tomorrow. Oromë, sit down. Can I get you anything?”

Oromë mumbled a request for water, and took a seat beside Fëanor. Fëanor, to his credit, did put down the magnets, though he didn’t seem happy about it. Nerdanel passed Oromë a glass of water, and returned to her seat. 

“How is he?” Nerdanel asked Oromë, when she was seated. Her eyes seemed to bore into him.

Oromë shrugged. “In some ways, I think he’s taking it better than I am. He was braced for the judgement in a way that I am not. In fact, he’s taking it so well I almost wish he wasn’t. It worries me that he seems to have expected to be treated so badly. Makes me wonder how badly he’s been treated before.”

Fëanor dug one sharp nail into the table in an almost animalistic gesture of rage. “Celegorm deserves better than this.”

“Yes,” Oromë agreed, “he does. But I think if you asked Celegorm, he would say that he already has everything he wants.”

“He deserves better than you,” Fëanor said coldly, and then winced as Nerdanel kicked him again. 

“Boys,” Nerdanel groused. At this moment, it was a description that applied to Oromë as well as it did to Fëanor. “Look at the two of you. On the same side and still snapping at each other like wolves over a fresh kill.”

Wolves, at least, were consistent, Oromë thought. Fëanor’s feels about Oromë had never been that. In some ways, he hated Oromë, hated that he had mistreated Celegorm, hated that he could not marry Celegorm, hated all the Valar and what Oromë represented about them. In other ways, Fëanor seemed to love Oromë. He had made the necklace Oromë wore at that very moment, under his tunic. A gift for he and Celegorm both. He loved Oromë in the way he loved Fingon. Oromë had, in some less noble fashion than Fingon, saved Celegorm from his loneliness and misery. Fëanor could never truly despise someone who made any one of his sons happy. He loved them all far too much for that. 

“If I could give Celegorm better than me, I would do so without hesitation.” Oromë told him. “If I could give him someone who had not married someone they did not love, like an idiot, I would give him that person. If I could give him someone who could undo the years of hatred people have directed towards him, I would. Someone who could unwind time and unmake the oath, unmake all my mistakes and Celegorm’s, I would. Even if to be happy, truly happy, Celegorm would never so much as know my name. I would give him that. It just so happens that for all my power, none of these are things I am. So, all I have to give is this.”

Oromë stormed out, blinking away a sudden rush of tears so that Fëanor and Nerdanel would not see them. 

\--

Approximately forty seconds after Fëanor realized he’d made a horrible mistake, Oromë had fled and Nerdanel had kicked him under the table for the third time that night. 

“Ow, Nerdanel,” he complained, reaching down to rub his shin. 

Nerdanel glowered at him. “Idiot. When will you learn that we are all on your side? I am on your side. Nolofinwë is on your side. Oromë, Aulë, Ulmo, Vána- they are not the enemy. Why, I believe you just made Oromë cry with your accusation that they don’t love Celegorm. Wrap your head around that, Fëanáro. Oromë would rather Celegorm be happy in a world where Oromë never had chance to meet him, than be unhappy here. I half believe you would rather I be unhappy with you than happy on my own.”

Fëanor’s greatest weakness, his hamartia, was his covetous nature. He knew that, now. He had not always. He had tried to own everything in his life. To keep the silmarils for himself. To not share his father with his younger siblings. To keep his children at his side. This flaw had singlehandedly ruined everything and everyone Fëanor had ever loved. Nerdanel’s assertion that Fëanor coveted her so that he would compromise her happiness had been true, once. That was why her words stung so now.

“I’m sorry,” he said, because, well, what else was there to say, really?

Nerdanel sighed, and leant back in her chair. “I’m not the one you owe an apology.”

“I always owe you an apology,” Fëanor told her, because it was true. “I’ll apologise to Oromë in the morning. I was being unfair. I just worry for Celegorm.”

Fëanor had spent almost Celegorm’s whole life worrying about him. Not that he did not worry about his other children. Indeed, he did. But Celegorm was the subject of an entirely unique worry. Fëanor worried about Celegorm dying like his mother had died. It was likely, Fëanor had always reasoned, that Míriel’s illness was the sort passed on by blood. Fëanor himself had never seemed to suffer a lack of spirit- the opposite, if anything, was true- but of all his children, Celegorm was the one who clearly had Míriel’s blood coursing through his veins. It seemed unlikely, and less and less likely as the years passed. Yet still, Fëanor sometimes woke in the night having dreamed the worst news had come. That Celegorm had collapsed somewhere and not even Estë or Irmo could wake him. It was that same dream, in fact, that had led to Fëanor sitting at the kitchen table in the wee hours of the morning. He knew it was not true, but that didn’t matter. He feared ill would come to Celegorm, no matter the source. 

“I know. I just think that Oromë would personally fight Námo for Celegorm, if it came to that.”

Nerdanel was more than familiar with all Fëanor’s many nightmares, just as he knew hers in turn. That night, she had woken just as Fëanor had from a horrifying vision. In hers, she had watched paralysed as Maedhros was tortured, unable to save him.

“Oromë would not have to. I think Aredhel and I would make an excellent team.”

This made Nerdanel laugh, just as Fëanor had intended it to. She paused for a second before speaking solemnly again. “Do you know that Oromë feels guilty for not fighting Morgoth- Melkor to the Valar, I suppose- in Beleriand?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“It’s a sentiment I think you would agree with. That inaction in the face of suffering is tantamount to action in support of it. Celegorm told me that Oromë wants to convince the other Valar of the same. Or at least, to get them to try and face their own traumas, the way the rest of us have.”

For all that Fëanor was a professional thinker, this was a thought that had literally never occurred to him. That the Valar might be traumatized by betrayal and loss and grief just as the Children of Eru were. 

“How do you suppose they’ve gone so long without confronting it?”

The look Nerdanel gave him was unbelievably sad. “Sometimes, when you are alone, it can be very difficult to process your grief. To understand all the ways in which you’ve lost everything and everyone.”

All Fëanor’s eloquent words were insufficient, every language he had learned or invented was meaningless in the face of what he had done to Nerdanel. Syllables were just noises, containing no more meaning than the wind through the trees. His precious characters were nothing more than lines. Nothing he could write or speak would ever make up for what he had done. A thousand Silmarils would not contain enough light to replace that which had faded from Celegorm’s smile, from Amrod’s laugh and Maglor’s eyes.

In light of all that, he reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. She bowed her head, and would not meet his eyes. 

“You know that if you ever want me gone, I will go. If what I have done to you, to our sons, is too much to be forgiven by anyone- for I know that nobody other than you could even try- then I will stay away. The last thing in the world I want is to cause any more pain. Not to you. Not to our children. Not to Fingolfin or Fingon or Oromë.”

Nerdanel’s eyes snapped up. “Don’t you dare step so much as a foot outside this house, Curufinwë Fëanáro. Not with me by your side.”

There was the fierce soul he’d married. “Nerdanel-”

“No. I learned my lessons from the first age too. You learned that your action was wrong? Well, I learned that my inaction was wrong. I learned what it is like to know that five thousand miles away, everybody I ever loved was suffering and dying and that I wasn’t there for them. I had to hear about the deaths of our sons from Finrod, because he was the only person who cared enough to tell me. You have no idea what that was like. They needed me. Maedhros had to recover from thirty years of torture without me there. I should have been there to hold him, to tell him that it would be alright. Maglor was alone for thousands of years and I couldn’t even look for him. I should have been there to tell Celegorm when he was being an idiot, and to listen to Caranthir when nobody else would. I should have been there to hold Curufin back and to make sure Amrod and Amras didn’t fold in on themselves the way they always do. I should have been there for Celebrimbor when he felt alone so that he would never have had to turn to Sauron. But I wasn’t. Instead I sat here, and it may be that I can tend their wounds now that they’re back with me, but I can never undo the wrongs that were done to them. That is my burden to bear, just as the shame of your oath and your failure is yours.”

If Fëanor was grateful for two things in his life, they were that his sons were returned to him now, and that Nerdanel had not gone to Beleriand with him. He was immeasurably glad that she had chosen her own path. That way, their children had never been orphaned. That way, Morgoth had never laid hands on her. 

“I promise, I will not leave you again.”

Nerdanel wrung her hands. “No matter how much danger. If you walk into it, I am at your side every second. Understand?

Fëanor did, but- “Nerdanel, when Morgoth breaks free, I can think of nothing that scares me more than you standing in his path.”

“Well then maybe you should think for a second about how I will feel, watching you do the same. The prophecies say that at the end, you will have to destroy the silmarils. I want to be there. I’m as good an accomplice as you’re likely to find for such a thing. I was the only person you told about making them, after all.”

And that was true too. They had never told anyone that, and people were liable to assume that Nerdanel’s work was all art and no substance. In point of fact, Nerdanel had once been the superior smith of the two of them, raised in her father’s forges under the tutelage of Aulë himself. When Fëanor had been working at the greatest challenge of his life, of course he had told Nerdanel. Even if she hadn’t respected his motivations, she had understood the craft in a way nobody else at the time save perhaps her father and Lord Aulë had. And of course, she was brilliant. 

“Are you sure?” Fëanor asked her, though he suspected he already knew the answer. 

“Beyond a shadow of a doubt. I would rather die than stand idly by for another second.”

Fëanor walked around the table to take Nerdanel in his arms. She was, in his estimation, even more beautiful than the day they’d first met, though it was a close contest. That first day, Fëanor had been just starting as her father’s apprentice, and had been so intimidated in the presence of Mahtan himself that he’d almost fainted. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen her. The most beautiful being in the world, shaping bronze in the form of an extraordinary tree. He’d been so distracted he’d almost fallen straight into the fires of the forge and saved the world and Nerdanel both years of suffering. 

“I love you too, idiot,” Nerdanel whispered into his chest. They were still adjusting to being properly married again, living in each other’s minds as so few couples did nowadays. For most, the scars upon their Fëas were too much to make it constant in the way it had been for everyone when Fëanor and Nerdanel were young. Some still did. Maedhros and Fingon, most notably of their family, seemed to push through suffering to maintain a strong connection. But if they could do so, after everything, then Fëanor was sure that he and Nerdanel could too. They were trying, and that was half the battle.

He kissed her, or perhaps it was the other way around. One of them was crying, and there was just the faintest salt of tears in their kiss. They fit together with the familiarity of centuries of marriage, Nerdanel’s hands coming up to rest where they always did, pulling him deeper into the kiss. 

After a moment, Fëanor pulled away. “If you intend to walk with me into the madness from now on, I need you to ensure I make more sensible decisions from now on.”

Nerdanel considered this and said, with absolute certainty. “I’ll handle your brand of lunacy. Leave Maedhros in charge of the rest.”

As usual, Nerdanel was right about everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah Nerdanel 100% regrets not going to Beleriand fight me. Also Fëanor thinks she’s really awesome because of course he does- he thinks everybody he loves is really awesome. (My MOM is the BEST MOM. My sons are the BEST SONS.) and he loves Nerdanel like a lot. (she loves him too, possibly against her better judgement)


	5. Fëanor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediately follows from the end of A New Day. Fëanor and Nerdanel are still insomniacs, now with bonus stargazing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I was going through my computer and I found this scene I wrote in like June and then forgot about- lucky for you guys, it’s actually complete and stuff! I hope you like it.

Nerdanel always knew that Fëanor’s insomnia was the worst when he was nowhere to be found inside. Awaking in the middle of the night alone, she’d checked all of his usual haunts, the forge, the kitchen, the living room, as well as a few of the rare ones like the attic and the cellar. But because it was, perhaps not unsurprisingly, a bad night, he was nowhere to be found. Finally, as a last resort, she went out back to the field, where she found him lying on his back, staring up at the stars. 

“They’re so much brighter than I always imagined,” he said, voice raw. He must have been crying. Nerdanel went and laid down beside him. Sometimes, Fëanor just wanted to be alone, but she didn’t think this was one of those times.

When they were children, growing up in the light of the trees, the stars had been almost always drowned out by their brilliance. Now, with only the faint light of the moon, they were clear and brilliant themselves, embroidered in gold and diamond across the fabric of Arda. 

“Would you have made them, with this before you?” Nerdanel asked. Fëanor would know what she meant. 

Fëanor made a vague noise, gesturing above them with his hands. “I don’t know. Honestly, I doubt I would have stopped. I’d have wanted to make them better, to compete.”

Nerdanel could not help but laugh at him. “I think you competed just fine.”

They both looked up at the brilliant light of Eärendil’s silmaril, shining brightest in the night sky. You could always tell which one it was because it twinkled differently than the other stars. It was just a little steadier. When Nerdanel had first seen it, she had found every statue of Fëanor she had ever made, and smashed them to pieces with a hammer. She had hated everything it told her, about her husband, and about her sons. But now, with him at her side and them each at peace, it was hard to muster anger in the face of such beauty.

“You should go back inside,” Fëanor told her, with a tone as though he was trying to be considerate. 

“I’m your wife. That means I get to lie here and star gaze with you. As long as you’re comfortable, that is.”

Fëanor reached out and wrapped an arm around her, which was answer enough. 

“Is it Míriel?” Nerdanel asked. If he’d come out here to look to the stars for comfort, it probably wasn’t the silmarils that were haunting him today. And more over, Fëanor had seen his mother yesterday. Both in hröa for the first time since he was a child. That was enough to unsettle anybody. 

Fëanor growled, deep in his throat. “I can make that-” he gestured to the silmaril- “but I can’t help her. My own mother has to spend her entire life caged like an animal, and I get to walk free. Me. What did she ever do wrong? What did I ever do right?”

“I don’t think it works like that,” Nerdanel told him. It was insufficient, and she knew so before the words even left her lips. How few elves there were who could truly understand what Fëanor was feeling. How lucky Nerdanel was to be not to count herself among them. How easy it would have been, for everyone she had ever loved to be gone from her. They had deserved it in all the ways Míriel didn’t. How blessed Nerdanel was, that they were free even though Míriel’s illness made it so that she could never be. 

“And after all those years I was alone as a child,” Fëanor continued, voice tense, “after all those years I needed my mother, they finally allow her visitors. Not for me. For Indis. And you know something? I can’t even hate her for it because she wanted my mother to be able to see me. She wanted both of us to be happy. I don’t think anyone else ever made as much an effort for us two as Indis did yesterday.”

Fëanor’s relationship with Indis was deeply fascinating. On many levels, Fëanor had hated her, and on occasion, she had given him cause to. Her preference for her biological children had always been very clear, and she’d shown little interest in any of Fëanor’s passions, even when he was a child. At least, that was the way Fëanor always told it. And Nerdanel did have some evidence of her own to back it up. Traditionally, at their wedding, her mother and the mother of her fiancé should have come together to advise her, about marriage and the bond and sex. Indis hadn’t shown. She had for Anairë, only a few years later, which Nerdanel had always attempted not to take as a personal slight. For of course, she was not Fëanor’s mother and he did not view her as such. What duty had she to Nerdanel? Not even every biological mother made the effort. Celebrimbor’s had not. She had not even stood for the public part of the wedding. Indis had done that for Fëanor, at least. 

Yet for all those slights, there had always been an odd kinship between the two of them. When they fought, they had always done so with a certain level of respect. Even if Fëanor did not accept her as his mother, he respected her as queen. If she gave orders, he would not ignore them. If he made suggestions, she would listen. And Indis had not been an unkind grandmother to their children. Maedhros, who had been her first grandchild, had always been a favourite, as was, more surprisingly, Celegorm. Though now that Nerdanel knew Indis and Míriel had been friends- or something else, perhaps- that detail was less surprising. Both children had gained Fëanor’s irrational dislike for Indis as they’d grown older, much to Nerdanel’s regret. If the children had liked Indis, Fëanor would have found it difficult to refuse them her company. The family might thus have stayed closer together.

“Did you know they were friends?” Nerdanel asked. 

“No, I didn’t.” There was something like regret in his tone. “Maybe I should have. I think I learned more of my mother from her than I ever did from my father. Perhaps she did it out of love. I always thought she was just mocking me.”

“I don’t think Indis would do that.”

“No,” Fëanor said, after a very long time. “She wouldn’t.”

“Will you be going to see your mother soon?” Nerdanel rolled over to throw an arm across Fëanor’s chest. She felt his shrug. 

“I want to. I just don’t know what I’ll say. I mean, she weaves a tapestry of our lives. She already knows everything about me.”

“Then ask her something about herself. Ask her how she became friends with Indis. Ask her how she met your father. Every question your father ever dismissed- ask her. Introduce her to the boys, properly. Celegorm, I think, would like to know more of her.”

Fëanor wrapped his arm around her waist. “I could introduce her to you. I’ve always wanted to.”

“I’d like that,” Nerdanel whispered. She buried her head in Fëanor’s shoulder, and let the sudden feeling of joy overtake her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nerdanel and Fëanor love each other a lot- fight me.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> So I've been thinking, and I've decided that if people were musical theatre songs, Fëanor would be Non-stop from Hamilton. Maedhros and Fingon would be One Hand, One Heart from West Side Story. If you have any further suggestions on this matter, let me know. For science!


End file.
